Bad Dates and Butterfly Collections
by Isoke
Summary: Clinton never quite succeeded in dating. He liked to blame it on his job or his particular taste, but hardly got it right. Fortunately, sharing a drink with a former con-artist is what he needed…until he reveal too much about himself


**Side Note:** The italics and bold lyrics are from Common's I Used To Love H.E.R. Good song, though.

**Bad Date(s) and Butterfly Collections**

"So, when will I see it?" Neal nuzzled Clinton's neck.

"What?" Clinton rose from the bed. He raised a brow at Neal, who remained indifferent to Clinton sudden action.

"Come on, Clint, I remembered you telling me about your butterfly collection. You said you stored it somewhere in your apartment. I want to know where." Neal rested his head on Clinton's shoulder, placing a kiss upon it.

Clinton sighed, rubbing his forehead.

"I should have never told you that."

Clinton doesn't remember exactly when he told him about the butterfly collection. He told Neal either during the long hours of scream fests or the quiet times in the van. Somehow he must have let it slip and Neal—like the good, gentlemen conman he once was—would use it against him. Nice way to start a post-sex conversation, especially with the man you're not supposed to be dating.

"It's not that bad. Compare to Peter's heel fetish, its child's play." Neal shrugged, "It could've been worse."

Clinton chuckled, wrapping his arm around Neal's waist and pulling him closer to his side.

"How so, Caffrey?" He smiled.

Neal rolled his eyes as he straddled Clinton. Wrapping his arms around Clinton's neck, Neal's lips hovered over his. Clinton hooked his arms loosely around Neal's waist, the warm skin sending sparks upon his fingertips. So much for the "no dating coworker" rule.

"So now we're on last name bases, Jones?" Neal teased.

"Unless you like to inform me more about how Peter's obsession with heels is worse than my private and confidential butterfly collection, I will doubtfully stop calling you Caffrey. I will save it for a more special and intimate occasion." He planted a kiss upon his thin lips, running his hands along the curve of Neal's back.

"I make the rules here, Jones." Neal's voice dropped a notch, sounding like cool water running down a stream. Clinton shivered slightly. Neal and his words, one reason he should never tell him another secret.

"Really?" He grinned.

"You know it. Besides, Peter has those certain purple, seven inch heels he have El wear before the act. It turns him on every time he sees her lying in bed, naked—"

"That's enough, Neal. I rather not hear about my boss with his wife…in…a compromise position. For now, I have a better idea to spend the next few hours." He flipped them over until he was on top of Neal. Clinton sucked on his neck while his hands trailed down the side of Neal's chest. He heard the groans escaping his boyfriend's lips which made him nibble along his ear and ground his already hard cock on Neal's.

"You…still haven't…told me about…your butterfly collection. I still want…"

"Neal, have anyone ever told you that you talk too much." Clinton faced him.

Neal grinned, the kind that made Clinton's heart quicken in pace and his palms sweat.

"I wouldn't be Neal if I didn't talk a lot. That's how I got out of many situations."

"It won't this time. As a matter of fact, it is better for you to keep it shut until needed." Clinton kissed him. Neal didn't protest or even spoke another word. All Clinton could hear was the couple of groans and grunts ever now and then.

At least it put to rest the butterfly collection issue.

**oOOoOOo**

Before Clinton Jones became serious with Neal, he hardly dated. Due to his job, his private life was dull and nonexistent compared to his friends and coworkers. Peter went home to his wife while Diana had Christie. As for Neal, he assumed he was still seeing Sara on the side. The last time he went on a serious date, which could have turned into a potential relationship, was over a year ago.

Jared Brown, a fine looking man who kept his suit pressed and black hair cut short and trimmed. His baritone voice sent shivers down Clinton's spine and made his thoughts go to filthy territories. His light coco brown skin made his dark brown eyes glow in the night. Speaking of his eyes, damn, he made Neal seems like a little boy. The way Jared would stare at him, seducing him. One look and Clinton almost fell to his knees and…well…pray.

But, first and foremost, Clinton was a prefect gentleman with class and grace. He wanted to get to know his potential lover; but, there were times he wanted to skip the dinner and movie and move on to the bedroom. Clinton was a man for Christ sake. He had needs.

For a while, Jared and he seemed to hit it off just fine. Somehow, by the fourth and fifth date, Jared wasn't the "one" or whatever women say about their current quest for a husband. Jared made him laugh. They seem to have plenty of things in common (if you include fucking five hours straight or looking at football). Yet, Clinton soon learned Jared was about image and not about the inner self. Frankly, Jared was shallow. And picky. And a drama queen who criticize people's clothing, cooking, and driving.

"No man of mine will wear a fifty dollar suit. I'm the best and I need the best, Clint-ten."

"It's Clinton." He also hated how Jared always mispronounced his name. It annoyed the living hell out of him.

They walked to Clinton's little apartment and he wanted to end the date. All they ever did was talk about is the game and Jared's never ending critique of people's appearance. Clinton had to bit his tongue to keep from yelling at him.

They stared at each other. Clinton thought he heard his mental clock ticking.

"It was fun, Jared."

"Likewise." Jared put his hands in his pocket.

Clinton sighed mentally.

"I would invite you in, but I need to wake up in the morning for work," he lied.

"It's okay. Maybe I can help you wake up in the morning.

Clinton smiled politely. "_Hell no_," he thought.

"I'm a heavy sleeper."

"I'm a light sleeper."

"I have to wake up really early in the morning."

"Like I said, I can wake you up. I mean, we've been seeing each other for a month and I think it's about time you—"

"_**And what I loved most, she had so much soul. She was old school, when I was just a shorty…"**_

"Hold on for a minute." Clinton pulled out the IPhone from his pocket and saw the name. "_Thank God!"_

"Hello."

"Hi Clinton. Did I call you on a bad time?"

"Actually it was a perfect time." He said while walking a few feet away from his date.

"Another bad date?"

"Yea."

"Tell him to leave."

"Can't."

"Why?"

Clinton sighed. How he wished the situation was simpler.

"He's a clingy type."

He heard Neal turning onto his side as the covers ruffed in the background.

"I hate those types. Try making up a lie."

"I did but no such luck."

"I presume it wasn't the right kind. Try this one."

Clinton listened carefully, doubting it would work but then again, this was Neal Caffrey, not Psychic Cleo from the 90's infomercials. He turned off his IPhone and faced his disgruntled date who had his arms folded. His soured face didn't help make anything better.

"_Mental note, never meet anyone on ."_

"Look, as much as I would love for you to come inside, it's a bad time for me. You see…my partner just called. I have to work tonight. It's this tough case we've been working on for the last couple of weeks. Maybe when the case is over, we can see each other again." Clinton hoped he sounded sincerely.

Jared fell for it.

"I see your point, Clin-ten. I guess we can take a break until things clear up. If you want to start again, you know how to reach me, but," he pointed his finger at Clinton's chest, "I'm a very impatient person. So don't take too long." He kissed him gently and wished him a good night.

Clinton did the same and watched him walked up the street until he was out of sight. He sighed. He should definitely thanked Neal for saving his ass from Gucci man.

After Jared, he mostly had one night stands. It helped him release stress and sexual frustration but it didn't satisfy him in the long run. He wanted something more but never quite, successfully achieved it. He wanted what Diana, Peter, and Neal had and not spent his nights with a random stranger or alone in his bed.

Then he tried dating women again but most wanted marriage and stability. Clinton was stable (when excluding his job), but marriage wasn't in his plans in the near or even in his plans if he decided to become serious with a man.

Soon Clinton met Jackie. She was beautiful: full, kissable lips, light red tint afro, and tanned skin. She kept him engaged which spark an immediate attraction and interest in her. During their conversations Clinton felt comfortable, at ease. Unfortunately that didn't last when she questioned his sexuality.

"Are you straight?"

Clinton wasn't ashamed of his sexuality and was quite frank about it outside his profession. He was an opened book but found himself conflicted in telling his dates.

"No."

Jackie's face was priceless. Her body tensed, eyes narrow and mouth slightly opened, as if she wanted to speak but cannot. Jackie glared at him as her manicure nails tapped on the mahogany wooden bar.

"You're gay?"

"No."

Jackie sighed.

"Are…you…on the Down Low?"

"Openly bisexual."

She leaned against the chair and stared at him as if he had two heads. She sipped her Dirty Temple before clearing her throat. Yep, he ruined another opportunity—after Jared—at something more.

"So…" Jackie started, placing her glass on the bar, "…you _were_ on the Down Low?"

"No. I never have been or ever be on the Down Low. I just like both. Will that be a problem?" Clinton asked, hoping she will give him a chance despite _that._

Jackie almost responded when her phone rang. She answered it. Before long Clinton saw her back as she took her purse and left the bar. He couldn't blame her for asking since there were brothers on the DL, but he wasn't one of them. It was one reason he hardly date women. Bisexuality equals confused straight boy or closeted homosexual who slept and intentionally effect black women with the virus.

As soon as Jackie left, Neal entered the bar.

Neal glanced at the woman before his eyes met Clinton's. Some part of him wanted to look away but he kept his eyes glued to him. The way he walked, as if he owned the room and one smirk can make all the woman fight to the death just to have him. Neal Caffrey was breathtaking, like a cool breeze on summer afternoon and sweet as pure chocolate. He was beautiful, charming, a real life Adonis. Clinton noticed that about Neal the first moment he saw him. It was what lured him to Neal.

Neal sat in Jackie's seat.

"She's pretty."

"She's not my type." He drank his Scotch on the rocks.

"Have you given her a chance?" Neal suggested before asking the bartender for 1845 Bourdon red wine.

"She basically ditched me when I told her my 'little' secret."

"Let me guess, you told her you're an FBI agent." He took the wine from the bartender and thanked him.

"Nah, she was okay with that. It was something else."

Neal looked puzzled, swirling his wine before taking a sip. Clinton wasn't much of a wine person but seeing Neal taking pleasure in drinking it made him reconsidered. Maybe he should taste Neal's lips and see how sweet the wine really was.

"_Wait! What?"_

"I don't know why I brought it up. It's nothing." Clinton asked for another Scotch.

"Do I look like someone who gossip around the office, Clinton? I won't tell anyone, scouts' honor." Neal pressed his left hand to his heart and raised his right hand.

Clinton chuckled, taking the drink from the bartender. He took a large gulp of his drink and cleared his throat.

"I'm bisexual."

"That's nothing new," Neal said causally.

Clinton stared at him, flabbergasted.

"Why you say that?"

Neal shrugged.

"There are worse things besides being bi. If you admitted you was a serial killer, than it would be a problem."

Clinton nodded. "You have a point. What about you? Are you bi?" Clinton leaned against the leather seat and crossed his legs.

Neal grinned, flicking his tongue across his wet lips.

"I don't like to label myself. Let's say I'm opened to anything."

Bisexual he is.

"Okay, anything else I need to know."

"Plenty. What about you? Is there anything else I need to know?" Neal asked. His eyes sparked under the dimmed light.

"Plenty." Clinton gave him the same flat reply.

"I almost owned a castle in France," Neal said, not taking his eyes off his glass.

Clinton choked on his drink.

"How did you do that?"

Neal shrugged.

"Forgery. You?"

Clinton wasn't prepared to share any details about his life, but he began to feel the buzz from the Scotch. He looked at Neal as the slow, rhythmic soulful house music played in the background.

"My father's a pastor."

"You know what they say about pastor's kids." Neal wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

"Hey! I was a good boy growing up. It wasn't until college when I became loose."

"You prove my point." Neal laughed.

His laughter sounded sweet to Clinton's ears as he became hypnotized by the noise. Clinton moved uncomfortably in his seat.

"Checkers or chess?" Neal asked after he calmed down.

"I'm more of chess man." Clinton loved the game.

"I am too." Neal drank more of the wine before asking, "I had a scholarship to attend art school."

"I almost attended the University of Virginia."

"What made you change your mind?"

"I didn't want to be away from my folks," Clinton shrugged, "I hated the weather. It was too warm for my taste." He nursed his glass, letting his finger circled the rim.

Neal nodded in acknowledgement.

"Once Kate and I skinny dip in Queen Mary's pool."

Clinton's eyes widened while Neal laughed at his surprise. How would he get the image of a naked Neal out of his mind?

"I don't know if I could top that one." Clinton recovered from his initial shock.

Neal leaned closer until his lips hovered over Clinton's ear. Hot breath escape from his parted lips and heated Clinton's skin. He started to find Neal very ravishing. Perhaps those feelings were there and he tried his best to ignore them. Then again, it could be the alcohol. Whatever it was, he liked Neal a little bit more.

Unfortunately, Neal was taken.

"How about we move our conversation to another place, somewhere private?"

Before long, Clinton found himself sitting beside Neal on his sofa. He nearly choked on his beer as he couldn't stop laughing at Neal.

"…you cried at what?"

"Come on, you had to cry at the ending of Titanic. It was a sad ending. Rose died and she meets Jack in the afterlife."

"I'm sorry, but the great Neal…"

"George, my middle name is George."

"Okay, the great Neal _George_ Caffrey cried while watching a chick flick. Damn, I'm impressed."

Neal rolled his eyes and laid his head on the cushions.

Several of the shirt buttons were undone, allowing Clinton to see the pale collarbone and the straightened of his neck. Clinton licked his lips, staring at the skin before him. It was refreshing to see him relax and even causal. Don't get him wrong. He loved seeing Neal dressed to perfection and composed, but it was always a pleasure to see him chill, letting his guard down.

"Go ahead and enjoy your laugh," then Neal became serious, "I hate walking in cemeteries."

"Really? Wh—" Clinton paused. He kicked himself mentally, wishing he could have kept his mouth shut.

He looked at Neal who smiled sadly.

"It's just something about cemeteries that make me feel unease. I believe it has something to do with realizing your own mortality, that life is short and precious. Any minute, we could be among the dead. I once thought I was invincible until…"Neal exhaled and took a sip of whiskey.

Without thinking, Clinton wrapped his arms around Neal who rested his head on his shoulders. He inhaled the scent of mint berry shampoo which made his head spin. Clinton didn't know what was like to lose someone you love but he felt bad for Neal. He wished he could make the pain go away but all he could do is hold Neal. His fingers caressed the clothed skin, hearing Neal's breathing. Peace and quiet, something Clinton thought he would ever become accustomed to.

"Don't worry about it, Clin-ten." Clinton felt Neal chucked against his shoulder.

"It's Clinton, Neal and please don't bring up Jared." Clinton pushed him slightly away despite the laughter escaping his mouth.

They continued to laugh until Clinton looked at the other man and felt his stomach tighten and mouth dry. His fingers caressed Neal's cheek as his thumb lightly touched his lower lip, memorized by them. Why the hell did he feel this way toward Neal? Why wasn't Neal pushing him away since he had Sara? Why was he even thinking?

Neal leaned forward to Clinton's touch until the sound of Beethoven played from his cellphone. He quickly answered it.

"Hi Peter."

Clinton sighed. Of all the times Peter could have called.

"Yea, I'm on my way. I see you in a few." Neal hung up the phone and grabbed his coat. He stood from the sofa.

"Sorry to cut this short but Peter needs me in the van."

"Damn. I had my share of sitting in the van late at night. I wouldn't recommend it." Clinton joined Neal and walked him to the door. He wished their time together wasn't cut short. He was beginning to enjoy himself.

"It's been fun."

"Yea, it has. I learned so much about you in the last couple of hours."

"Like what?" Clinton rested his hand on the doorway. He didn't want to see Neal leave.

"You are an avid collector of butterflies. You've been collecting them since you were a kid. I believe the first butterfly you caught was a Japanese Black Eye. They are the rarest of their kind by the way."

Clinton's mouth dropped. How did Neal know about his collection? Did he show it to him early that night? When did he reveal that to him?

Clinton tried to formulate words but failed. He was too stunned to even speak.

"What? I think it's fascinating to collect butterflies. Maybe next time you will show me them."

"Are you sure there is a next time, Caffrey?" Clinton teased.

Neal smirked. He touched the side of his face.

Clinton shivered. Something about Neal's hands made his temperature rise.

"Oh, there will be a next time, Clinton Jones." Neal cupped his chin and pressed his lips against Clinton's.

It lasted a brief seconds: a chaste kiss with no tongue or parted lips. Neal pulled away first, fingers still caressed Clinton's cheek. As for Clinton, he allowed the kiss to linger as reality sink in. It wasn't as soft as a woman or rough as Jared. It was completely, utterly Neal.

"What…about Sara?" Clinton asked.

Neal stared at him.

"What about her?"

"You two are…you know…"

"Clinton, I wouldn't be kissing you if I was still with Sara."

"You have a point." Clinton returned the kiss but slowly, gently, taking his time to explore Neal's mouth.

Neal parted his lips, allowing a moan to escape. His fingers trailed to his neck as he pulled him closer.

Clinton didn't know how far it would have lead, but by the ringing of Neal's cellphone, Clinton knew it would have to end. Neal released him and looked at it. He hit the ignore button and placed it in his pocket.

"I should go," he whispered against Clinton's lips.

"Yea, I don't want you to get in trouble." His hand brushed some of Neal's hair back and kissed him again. He never thought he would find pleasure in touching Neal.

"I'll see you tomorrow?"

Clinton tried his best not to let go of Neal. He continued to caress both sides of his face and brushing his lips across Neal's mouth. He craved Neal, all of him. But he knew he had to send Neal to Peter. Regrettably, he released Neal.

"Sure, you will see me tomorrow and the next day after that."

Neal smiled.

"I plan on seeing you after tomorrow."

**oOOoOOo**

Clinton laid back on the sofa while Neal lied on top of him. Neal had very inventive ways to make Clinton's confess. His tongue, lips, hands, nice little…

"All this time, your butterfly collection was underneath the bed? I should do this more often. Perhaps you finally admit to more secrets from your past." Neal mumbled as he sucked on Clinton's nipple.

Clinton arched his back and groaned.

"That's all I'm going to admit, Caffrey." He knew it was a lie. Neal knew it too but, damnit, it felt good saying it.

"Really?" Neal trailed kisses along his collarbone until he kissed him on the lips. He faced him, eye to eye.

"Really." Clinton flipped Neal over until he was lying on his back. Clinton wrapped Neal's legs around his waist and pressed his forehead against his lover. "Now, let's see how many secrets I can get out of you in one hour or so." His husky voice made the fine hair on Neal's body stand up.

"You'll never get anything out of the Great Neal—"

"George."

Neal rolled his eyes but maintain his smirk.

"_George_ Caffrey."

Clinton chuckled under his breath.

"We'll see about that."


End file.
